


Empty Chairs at Empty Tables

by jaimesselfishmachines



Series: Idiot Boyfriends (head over heels and in denial) [8]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Apologies, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Hercules is going THROUGH it, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Lafayette is a darling, Love Confessions, M/M, Panic Attacks, Reconciliation Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 11:13:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17897375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaimesselfishmachines/pseuds/jaimesselfishmachines
Summary: A soldier's job is to fight for their country. They have to be willing to die for it.When Hercules receives that dreaded phone call, he learns that the man he dearly loves is the newest casualty of this war.Hercules knows that this was a possibility; he understands the inherent risk.There's just never enough warning.





	Empty Chairs at Empty Tables

**Author's Note:**

> The one where Lafayette isn't dead (yet).  
> {{As usual, everything in squiggly/curly brackets is spoken French}}

 

“Gilbert..?” The name sounds foreign on Herc's tongue, and the irony of that fact is not lost on Lafayette. Early morning phone calls are not unheard of between them; though 2am conversations were generally reserved for back when they were still dating each other. When the two lovebirds would do anything to defy the universe's plans to keep them apart. Lafayette has a demanding schedule, a rotating command under Washington’s instruction, and it's a position anyone else would kill for. Between school and long hours at the Tailory, Hercules hasn't rest for a moment since the breakup upended his finances. Laf had offered to provide a stipend, but Hercules was adamant at the time that he didn't need or want charity from someone incapable of staying faithful.

It hurt, watching himself fall so far in the eyes of the man he loved. But Lafayette doesn't begrudge Hercules his anger. Hercules had deserved the world and received far from it with him. He had been unfaithful and Hercules had caught him red-handed (or rather, wet-dicked) and he had done nothing to improve the situation in its immediate aftermath. He can make up for it now.

{{“Are you alright?”}}

“I… Did I wake you?” Hercules only takes this tone, hesitant and shaky when something is gravely wrong.

“No,” Lafayette says honestly. It's as though the word clears his conscience. He hasn't had the opportunity to vocalize it in far too long. Beside him, Xander snores softly, chest rising and falling gently in time with his breaths. Lafayette has never been one to romanticize his partners, or life really. The quality of softness is not a luxury he can entertain in his situation. There's always a chance that he'll be the next flag flown half-mast; there's no time to stop and smell the roses. Washington expects only the best in the fight for the Republic's future. “I always have time for you.”

It's not entirely true, but Lafayette is grateful for the distraction. 2am or not, if he looks at these battalion arrangements for another second, he'll pull his hair out. Thankfully, Hercules doesn't mention the reality. That Lafayette always seemed short on time when they were actually together.

“C-can you come over?” Hercules asks softly.

“I don't know where you live anymore.” Lafayette admits. He glances at the sleeping body next to him and sighs. He isn't as impulsive and thrill-seeking in his personal life. Not when his professional life is by definition, perilous. “I mean, what would it look like? If I left in the middle of the night?”

There's a moment of silence as Hercules digests what he's been told. When he next speaks, his words are slow. “Oh. I didn't realize that you had company. Are you still dating Xa—?”

“Herc, please.” Lafayette cuts off his ex-boyfriend, “you don't care who I'm dating, or not dating. I have operations in a few days at Bunker Hill.”

“You should get some rest.”

{{“Non, you called me for a reason. Just talk to me, what's the matter?”}}

{{“I… I can’t.”}}

“Will you be more comfortable talking in person?” Lafayette suggests. If Hercules is speaking French, whatever is bothering him can’t be dealt with over the phone.

“I'll text you the address... okay?”

“I'll be there as soon as I can.” Lafayette states, “I promise.”

 

“You're still up?” Xander groans.

“I have to go,” Laf says softly, kissing Xander's temple. “You remember my friend Hercules?”

A sleepy murmur is the only response that Laf gets, and he's relieved that for the second time tonight, he won't be caught in a lie. It's not the time for guilt at his past infidelity and it's too late to come clean about the full truth of his relationship to Hercules. As far as Xander knows, his relationship with Lafayette had developed organically. And to be fair, that much is true. But what he doesn't know won't hurt him. He doesn't need to know that his love is born of Laf's infidelity.

“Mhmm, do whatever needs to be done.”

 

* * *

 

Lafayette huffs, arms resting against either side of the blue door frame. Even with his advanced level of fitness — he can neutralize a British regiment almost single-handedly — his chest heaves with the trek up four flights of stairs. He bangs on the door, loud enough for Herc to hear, but soft enough to not wake the neighbours.

“S'open!” is the call from inside. Lafayette turns the handle and steps into the apartment, picking out the most notable features.

It's small.

But Lafayette doesn't feel pity. With New York prices, anything bigger than a shoebox is a reason to be proud.

“Hercules, where are you?” Lafayette calls, shutting the door behind him. He turns, only to find himself pressed into the door, Herc's arms around his neck, body flush against his. Lafayette doesn't have to look to know that Herc is naked. “W-what are you doing?”

“You said that you wanted me t'know how it feels, right?” Hercules purrs, “I want you, Gil. Now. Fuck me.” Hercules silences any protest that might leave Laf's lips, tongue exploring the familiar terrain of the Marquis’ mouth.

“Hey,” Lafayette pulls away, attempting to defuse the situation through a sort of nervous laughter, “I didn't come here for that. But it's a good thing you're still a brilliant kisser. Mercer's lucky.”

“It's Laurens.” Hercules corrects, stepping away from Lafayette and shrugging the bathrobe back over his shoulders. “You should go. I've a’ready embarrassed m’self enough.”

“Non, I came all this way. Talk to me. Please, what's wrong?”

“Nothing!” Hercules roars, mouth eager to deny, face an indecipherable mixture of emotion.

“I can smell the alcohol on you.” As if to prove Laf's point, Hercules sways sharply and Laf dives to support him.

“You don’ wanna sleep with me and that's fine.” Hercules murmurs into Laf's neck, the beginning of tears welling up as his eyes flutter closed.

“Because I know this is about something else. You don't really want to have sex with me. There's no way Laurens has been gone so long that you'd cheat on him.” Lafayette brings a hand up to hold Hercules against him. Laf isn't afraid to admit that Herc is the more honourable man. “You wouldn't cheat.”

Hercules tenses upon contact, distancing himself for a moment. He shakes his head, eyes clamping shut, seeking psychological refuge. If he can't see it, it isn't happening. Tears race down his cheeks. Lafayette doesn't have a chance to ask why; the answer fights its way out of Herc's mouth a second later.

“H-he's dead, Gil.” the admission is almost silent, almost drowned out by the thudding of Herc’s pounding heart. “The last thing I said to him was some dumb shit about money, and I…”

“ _What_?”

Hercules’ fingers wrap around Laf's biceps, tight and unyielding, as though they are the only thing keeping him upright. And Lafayette can do nothing but watch as Herc's entire body trembles, every muscle threatening mutiny. Sobs tear through him, head pressed into the Marquis’ chest, soaking his shirt in tears. Hercules shatters. When his knees buckle beneath him, Gilbert goes down with him, crumbling to the floor as Hercules howls in grief.

“I got you,” Gilbert whispers, rubbing circles on Herc's back. “I'm not going anywhere. Just let it out, mon cheri.”

Hercules misses school that morning, still broken with utter despair. His muscles pain him, and as stares at the ceiling, he hopes that if he keeps still enough, maybe he'll die too. Lafayette watches him closely. He's never seen such a defeated man.

“Good morning,” Lafayette ventures, breakfast in hand. It's McDonald's from around the corner. He had wanted to cook, but didn't want to burden Herc with the hassle of putting everything back when he was finished. “How are you doing?”

Hercules seems deep in thought, unmoving in response to the question. Lafayette steps into the bedroom with a hopefully reassuring expression.

“My boyfriend’s body is still splattered across the top of Combahee River, so I’m doing just great.”

Lafayette's eyebrows raise. _Splattered_ implies a certain level of violence that Laf can't even begin to imagine right now. “Herc—”

“Can’t you just fuck me?” Hercules seems surprised that his voice is his own. “I need to feel wanted. I need a distraction.”

“I can't. I know you think you want to, but you're emotionally raw right now. I'd be taking advantage of you.”

Hercules scoffs, “Yet you had no problem pinning me against that counter.”

And there it is, the elephant in the room. Even now, Lafayette can't explain why he did it. Hercules had been nothing but gentle with him, patient even as he demanded a midnight flight upstate. Whenever he tries to explain it, his mouth dries and his body shakes. His throat closes and the words suffocate in his chest. Not even Hercules would believe what had happened. The truth wouldn't matter to either side, royalist or patriot. The truth would render him a traitor.

And isn't that what he is?

“Hercules, I'm sorry. I know we haven't spoken since but you should know that I have never regretted anything more. Hurting you, that is. That night, I commanded troops to the biggest patriot loss so far. Washington… made his… displeasure known… and I took that out on you.” Lafayette clears his throat, “That's not an excuse. I should have never even thought about doing something like that. I am sorry.”

“Hero of two worlds, huh?” Hercules muses, and Lafayette can see tears beginning to well up in Herc’s eyes, “you're too hard on yourself.”

“ _Merci_ ,” Lafayette smiles, sitting on the edge of the bed, “but I should be comforting you.” Lafayette rests the food beside him and says, “you should eat something.”

“I will,” Hercules says, grasping the bag, “and you should get home. It's impolite to leave _company_ alone.”

Lafayette grimaces, “Don't make this into something it isn't.”

“I'm not, honestly.” Hercules says plainly, “I'm saying that part of the reason why we didn't work is because you were always distracted by other things. I’m saying that if you love him, if you like him, you shouldn't squander that.”

“Thank you, seriously.” Lafayette nods. His hand comes to rest on Herc’s cheek. and Laf’s heart surges. “Do you need anything at all?”

“U-uh, you’ll need to call J-John’s mom and sister. He and his brother don’t speak, but call him too..? Get the death certificate, and there’s a lawyer — Hosack, I think — on 23rd who handled his will and probate. I think he’s the executor of the estate as well. And collect his p-personal items?”

Lafayette takes note, “and the body? When is it being transferred to New York?”

“There is no body.” Hercules shakes his head, colour draining from his face. “He stepped on a landmine.”

“ _Jesus_ ,”

“No, no, no, it’s okay.” Hercules squints at Laf, holding his hands up to placate him, “Th-these things happen. It is what it is.”

“I-I’ll check on you tonight.”

* * *

 

It’s around noon when Lafayette finally leaves Herc’s apartment. The sun is high in the sky and every one of Laf’s bones hurt. He knows he must look a mess considering all the worried looks the pedestrians are shooting in his direction. He rubs his hand down his face, stubble scratching at his palm as long legs stride impatiently in the direction of his townhouse.

He knows the feeling of cold metal pressing into his back the second he steps into the gated threshold. It prods into his spine and Lafayette slows in his steps. He straightens his spine, standing tall as he speaks to his assailant.

“You should know two things: if you are a royalist, that Washington will not take kindly to his favourite general being gunned down in the streets; if you are a patriot, you shooting me will not help the war effort.”

“Your accent is awfully strong when you’re afraid.”

Lafayette can’t deny his fear. For all his battlefield experience, he’s still a mere mortal, and this bullet could be the end.

“And your accent is awfully strong for a dead man.” Laf replies, tone fiery, “Do you know what you’re putting Hercules through?”

“What are you talking about?” Laurens asks, and the metal prodding into his back disappears. He yanks Laf around, forcing the Marquis to face him. It’s not the reaction Laf had expected. Last time he and Laurens got into a fight over Hercules, it didn’t end well. “You know I’ll shoot you if you lie to me, regardless of whatever favour you hold with His Excellency.”

“I believe you.” That’s the reaction Lafayette expects. He shrugs, “I still have your bullet in my shoulder.”

“Why would you have sex with him, knowing that we’re dating?”

“Hey, Laurens,” Lafayette starts, watching as the gun drifts a little lower. It’s away from his heart, but the new position over his crotch does nothing to reassure the Marquis of his safety, “I didn’t have sex with Hercules. I swear to you.”

“Why would you… and I don’t expect you to give a shit, but I _love_ Hercules. I love him so much that it hurts to leave him. But this fucking war—and I’m tired of it—this war means the world to me as well. Why do you feel the need to fuck up my life?”

“I don’t! You’re not listening to me. On my honour, I didn’t sleep with Hercules. He thinks you’re dead. That your body is scattered across the Combahee River.” Lafayette explains, “that you stepped on a landmine. He got the death notification yesterday.”

“I…” and Laurens holsters his weapon. Lafayette had been willing to kill for his honour, and Laurens has no reason to disbelieve such an oath. “I transferred units, Henry Knox needed a maintenance specialist... Lauren’s dead?”

“ _Lauren_?” Lafayette is livid. Hercules was languishing in despair because of a clerical error?

“Jack Lauren.” Laurens whispers, as though he’s trying to figure out what exactly that arrangement of letters really mean. Or rather, don’t mean anymore. “I need to call General Greene.”

“You need to call Hercules. He’s an absolute wreck.”

“No, I need to **see** Hercules.” Laurens hangs his head, imaginary weight on his chest doing its best to smother him. “I’ll call Greene later.”

“He’s in a bad way.” Lafayette smiles sadly, “Good luck, Laurens. I know we got off on the wrong foot,” —and boy, isn't that the understatement of the year?— “but I can see how much you love him. He deserves to be loved... like you love him.”

* * *

  
Hercules stumbles out of bed, bottle in hand. It hasn’t left his side since that phone call from General Greene’s most trusted aide. He knows better, but he doesn’t want to. His chest burns with a pining sorrow, a miserable affliction that can’t be healed with all the McDonald’s in the world. Still, it can be soothed with the brandy in his hand. He rests it on the edge of the sink, moving retrieve his toothbrush.  
Just because he's drunk doesn't mean that he can't be functional, right?  He ignores the black toothbrush next his, making a mental note to ask Lafayette for another favour. There's no way he can organize Pretty Boy's belongings by himself.

“Y’know, it’s not very polite to finish the liquor before the guests arrive.” The slightest South Carolina drawl reminds Hercules too much of John all too soon. He doesn't understand how it aches so bad, how a simple misstep is the cause of so much agony.

“This is a cruel joke, Gilbert.” Hercules mutters, almost under his breath, spitting blood-tinged foam at the porcelain.

“Well, we both know Frenchie has a shitty sense of humour.”

“Fuck you,” Hercules growls, raising his head to stare into the reflection of John Laurens, alive and well, standing behind him. On any other day, the smirk on John's face would be alluring, but today is not any other day. Hercules’s fist smashes into John's face, wiping away that smug expression in a second. John is thrown to his knees in an instant, unable to deflect the oncoming blow with no warning.

“Not the welcome home I expect to be greeted with, but okay.” Laurens groans, wiping his bloody mouth on his sleeve. He looks up to see the rage on Herc's face, fist poised to strike again. John sees the spectre of his father for the span of a heartbeat, and then Hercules crumbles.

“G-get the fuck away from me.” Hercules stammers, jumping back from the scene unfolding, the play he never consented to being cast in. “You don't get to… _son of a bitch_.”

“Wait,” Laurens tries to plead, bloody bottom lip pinched between his teeth as he watches Hercules hunch over, laborious breaths leaving the tailor’s lungs all too quickly. He rises to his feet, holding each of Herc's wrists in his hands.

“I can't… breathe,” Hercules wheezes, clutching his chest.

John's eyes widen, “You're having a panic attack.”

“N-no,” Hercules shakes his head, “D-don't touch me. Get… away from me.”

“I'll let you go when you calm down, okay? Just look at me,” Laurens coos, and Hercules’s stubbornness relents. His eyes glance upward to meet Laurens’s gaze. “I'm here, okay. We're both safe. So you're just gonna breathe with me, can you do that for me babe?”

Hercules nods slowly.

“Okay, take a deep breath in and count with me, alright? One, two, three, four. It's okay if you can't, just try your best. One, two, three, four.”

 

When Laurens finally calms Hercules down, even that isn't enough to raise Herc’s spirits. The room is tense, each man refusing to confront the rift between them. It isn't everyday that a man rises from the dead. It isn't everyday that Hercules loses control like he did. He prides himself on his stellar self control, on keeping his word. He swore he would be nothing like Laurens’s violent father, but the reality of his aspirations fall short.

Herc's hands still shake violently, and he is adamant in his refusal to even look at Laurens. He can't stomach the razor-sharp indictment of his shortcomings that dwell in Laurens’s eyes.

“Hercules, I’m sorry.” Laurens says. He hasn't dealt with his grief yet. It's not as though Jack Lauren had been a dear friend, but he'd known the man a while. They had been friendly. Exchanged stories about their families, their siblings, their lives back home. Jack had left a fiancée and a baby girl behind. Still, with Hercules having erected a solid wall of silence, Laurens can't process that. “Please talk to me.”

Hercules bites his lips and bounces his leg, a telltale sign of the adrenaline still raging through his body. “I kissed Gilbert.”

Laurens acknowledges the confession with an amicable: “Thank you for telling me. I’m not mad.”

“I punched you.” Hercules chokes, “I put my hands on you.”

“I know, babe, I was there.” Laurens chuckles, grin barred by the ice pack pressed to his bottom lip. His cheeks dust pink, warmth blooming in his face as he looks at Hercules. John's eyes twinkle with affection, and when Hercules looks up, he breaks. He lurches forward, hunkering onto John's lap, sobbing into the crook of his neck. John casts the ice pack aside, bringing his arms up to envelop his boyfriend.

“I thought… You were…” Hercules presses his palms against John's heart. His hands vibrate in time with John's pulse. “They called me and said you were dead, John. And I couldn't help but hear the last things I said to you.”

Hercules doesn't even remember what they had been arguing about, but the moment those fatal words left his mouth he regretted them. The flash of hurt on John's face was only visible a moment, but John made no attempt to stick around. He had reported to General Greene's station 10 hours early. And been reported dead sixteen hours later.

“Is that why you're drunk right now?” John muses. The scent of nondescript liquor is radiating off of Hercules, and all his words float away from him on the perfumed wings of cherries, grapes, and sherbert.

“I didn't want to feel it.” Hercules admits, “it was everywhere all at once and it wouldn't go away. And it hurt so bad, I couldn't bear to move.”

“I should have filed the transfer papers sooner. I… Jack's dead, Hercules.” and the weight on his chest chokes him. “Th-that could have been m-me. He has a kid. A fiancée.” John whispers, words struggling to leave his throat. “I can't even think of what she's going through.”

“Look at me.” Hercules presses his knuckles under Laurens’s chin, pushing the soldier's head up. “We can't think about that right now. The war will rage on. We can deal with all that tomorrow. Today is all we have. Today, we're safe. Today, we have each other. And we have to be thankful for that.”

“I'm thankful for you.” Laurens smiles, letting his gaze dance between Hercules and his lips. Hercules sees the way John's eyes sparkle, desire plain on his face. His eyes follow the movement of Herc's lips carefully when the tailor next speaks.

“I'm thankful you're alive.”

* * *

 

“How'd things go with your friend?”

Lafayette perks up, turning to lay eyes on Xander, still in his full patriot uniform, cockade sewn steadfastly to his chest. Even at home, there's still a fire in his eyes, a fighting spirit that glows with vigour, unable to be extinguished by the appearance of a ceasefire. Lafayette admires Xander's spirit. They're here for the same reason, after all. Two immigrants who believe more than anything in the fight for personal sovereignty. But Lafayette is always on edge, knows Xander has an unhealthy level of admiration for His Excellency General George Washington; it only takes a second for that admiration to be exploited. One stalemate, and Washington would out the light behind Xander's fierce eyes.

“My friend?”

“Yeah, Henry..? You left in the middle of the night. I was worried.”

“He received a death notification. His husband.” Lafayette hugs Xander close, burying his head in Xander's hair, inhaling his scent. Like John, like Hercules, Lafayette is also thankful tonight. “I love you.”

Xander tenses in Laf's arms. “You've never said that to me before.”

“I've thought about it a lot.” Lafayette's expression darkens dangerously, unseen by Alexander, “And I'm realizing with every loss, that life is shorter than any of us really know.”

“Don't be dramatic, mon amour,” Alexander presses a kiss to Laf's neck. “I won't die on you.”

Lafayette smiles, {{“We both know you can't promise that.”}}

* * *

 

“You don't ever leave me,” Hercules whispers harshly in between panting breaths. The handcuffs around Laurens’s wrists jangle in time with movement of his hips as he rides Hercules.

“Never,” Laurens breathes, lips at home on Herc’s neck, teeth biting down, and tongue smoothing over the blooming purple in apology. He throws his weight forward, tension building in his thighs, his stomach, his chest, and “ _Fuck, Herc_ _—_ ” Laurens bites down on Herc's shoulder as he cums, cries muffled by salty skin.

Hercules cums a second later, sobbing into John's chest.

“I love you. I hope that you can tell. I make so many allowances for you and I want you. I want to keep you here. I hate every time you go to work, because I'm scared. I'm scared you won't come back. I love you. I don't tell you that enough. How much I love you.”

“I know, Herc. I know, baby.” John whispers, fingers tracing patterns on the back of Herc's neck. “I love you too.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated :)


End file.
